


The Seed Of Plushie

by casstayinmyass



Category: Child's Play/Chucky (Movies), Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Attempt at Humor, Crack, Dolls, Gen, It's Up To Interpretation What He Did To Deserve Execution, Murder, No I'm Not Continuing This This Was A Fever Dream, Plushie, RIP Cardi's Taint, Souls, Stabbing, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, lol, potato
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24968932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: Child's Play but it's Copia's soul in the cursed potato
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	1. The Curse Of Plushie

He had finally done it this time. 

It had been an inexcusable offense against the church. Papa Nihil had been waiting for it to happen, waiting for the Cardinal to slip up even a little bit, and had now jumped on the chance to take over his old titles once again. Copia knew there was no recovering from this particular slip up-- it was his death they were calling for, not excommunication. 

He could feel the ghouls on his heels as he ran through the church corridors he had loved and grown up in. For his dedicated years of service to Satan to be cut short over something like this pained him, but there was no going back now. Thank Asmodeus he had worn his form fitting black suit today for the trial, and not his cassock. Hey, if he was going out, he was going to go out with his cock proudly on display through the tightest pants he had. He recalled the sobs of the Siblings who had come to adore him, from both carnal association and confessional. He was beloved by the church, which made the sentence so much harder. 

But faced with that rusty old guillotine, Copia had snapped. He couldn’t stand by and accept his own death like that-- there had to be a way to escape. 

The snarling ghouls approached fast as Copia kept running. The ghouls were not any of his own, but those from eras past-- his own had refused, in solidarity, to attend his execution. Determined to get away, he kept going. Thankfully, he was light on his feet and as all those who attended his rituals loved to celebrate, he had nice muscular thighs to run faster with. 

Copia looked up, and saw where he had ended up. The Ministry’s merchandise room. He could hide here-- it would be the perfect escape. Looking behind him, the Cardinal dashed inside the room, running past the rows of shirts with his face emblazoned upon them in various unique forms. He kept running toward the back, past chalices, action figures, vinyl pressings and socks. 

The ghouls entered the room, and Copia swore under his breath. The exit of the room led to one of the Ministry’s rooftops, and while that was dangerous as fuck, he could try and scale the turret down without slipping and falling to his death in the chasm below the church’s bridge. He grimaced. Those weren’t good odds, but they were better than being dragged back to the chopping block. 

The ghouls hissed something in their language, and spread out. Copia glanced again to the exit. He had to make a dash for it, or they would find him. Running out, he made for it, but the ghouls noticed too fast. Copia heard all too late the whistling of daggers, and looked down to see that he was bleeding through his suit, the points having stabbed all the way through. 

“Ah,” he muttered, clutching the wall. He had been stabbed. “I’m going to die,” he gasped out, as if realizing it for real. “I am going to fucking die before I have a chance to become Papa. What a fucking drag.” He groaned, the blood spreading quickly now. His head spun, and he gave one last look around. Oh. _Oh!_

His eyes fell on the new prototype plushie dolls-- the ones they had crafted to look like him. They looked nothing like him at all. In fact, they were quite atrocious, alarmingly so. But the insulting likeness that waited before him in boxes were his last hope. 

Copia stumbled forward, toppling into a stack of potato plushies. He scrambled for one, smearing blood on the box as he fought to get it out. What was that voodoo ritual he read about late one night while translating that old tome?! Ah yes! 

He stared down in distate down at the ugly doll, eyes wide and soulless. He swallowed, feeling his vision begin to go. He needed to act fast-- his body wouldn’t hold him for much longer.

“Ade due damballa,” he spoke, holding his palm against the plushie’s forehead. “Give me the power I BEG OF YOU!” Lightning crackled around the church, and Copia gasped for air as he felt a surge of energy pass through him. With one last spark, he blacked out. 

The ghouls all gathered, observing the Cardinal’s body. They nodded to one another, sneaking off to illicit the help of the cleanup ghouls, leaving the gruesome scene. 

Minutes ticked by. The storm clouds outside still raged, and the dark energy in the toy room was still palpable. Copia’s rats, sensing what had happened from the other side of the church, had all come running down, and were gathered around, climbing all over their master, mournfully squeaking. It seemed as though the fearless leader of Ghost was really gone... until the plushie sat up. 

The rats all turned, and Copia blinked. He was looking at his own dead body. He sighed, realizing he wasn’t really dead... then looked down at his hands. His plush, black mitts. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispered, “I’ve become the thing I fear the most, bambinos.” 

The rats all squeaked happily at the return of their father, and Copia got up. “How will I wobble asses like this!” He gasped, reaching down under his cassock. “Aii! Where is my junk? My junk!” He ran on his little legs to the door of the merch room. So, this was it then. Trapped in this potato abomination by necessity, until he could find a way out and get his junk and taint back. 

And he would. Oh, he would. _Vengeance was his._


	2. The Revenge Of Plushie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all knew iii would never survive a horror movie

He hadn’t told anyone he had taken one from the merch room. The little creatures were funny looking, and entertained him. They had unfortunately still been released to the public, as the Church was in the midst of this scandal of trying to figure out what they would tell followers of Ghost about the Cardinal’s “disappearance” and subsequent replacement. 

Terzo scoffed as he looked at the ugly little plushie that sat on his shelf. 

“No more taint tickling for you, eh?” he snickered, flicking the doll’s potato nose. “Your days in the spotlight are over. Justice, I say! You stole the title from my family, and you got what you deserved.” He pulled his kazoo off of its stand, and tooted it triumphantly in the plushie’s offensive face. “Ha! Talk shit, get kazoo’d, you ugly little fart!” 

The third Papa headed back to his desk, and looked over his shoulder. Its hideous eyes were soulless, unblinking, like they were glaring through him. He shivered. The more he looked at it in its little red cassock, the more guilt he felt. Terzo sighed. The Cardinal hadn’t been that bad when he was alive he supposed. A little neurotic, a little overzealous, but still. Usurpers were not treated kindly in the first place, and after what Copia did? The Church was better off without him. 

He turned back to his work, humming. Then he heard something... like a shuffling behind him. He turned, and the color drained from his face. 

“Cazzo,” he whispered, standing again. “Satana dannazione.” The plushie was missing from the shelf. He looked around, chuckled weakly. “Alright, Omega. You can come out now with it. I know, I know. I will never live this down, eh? I simply got the thing so I could verbally taunt it, not to hold gently at night! That would be silly, heh...”

No answer from his favourite ghoul. 

The silence in Terzo’s chambers was beginning to unnerve him. “Enough!” he called, fists tightening. “Do you hear me? If I catch a Sibling of Sin in here playing some prank, I will be furious!” He swallowed, knowing his words didn’t hold much weight-- he was never very harsh when it came to discipline, unless it was that of the sexual sort. Still. He could prank others, but when the tables were turned, he couldn’t handle it. A floorboard creaked behind him, and he whipped around, mortal fear in his eyes. “Out! Show yourself, invisible enemy, or I will be forced to--”

He heard the tiny shuffling again behind him, and yelped, jumping up onto his bed. Nothing could get him up there. Nothing of the shorter, plushier kind. After a second of steadying himself with his hands on the ceiling, Terzo realized how ridiculous this was. He was an Emeritus! This was very unbecoming, and frankly, uncharacteristic of him in particular. He shook the fear away, and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Is that you, Cardinale?” he smirked, laughing to himself. “Have you come to _haunt_ me? Oooo! Why not haunt my father? He will be the one taking up the band in your absence!” Another laugh to himself, and he went to get down. Of course, being the absolute klutz that he was, he slipped off, hitting his head on the chair and falling face first to the ground. 

With a groan, Terzo brought his hand up to his now bloodied forehead. _Fuck_. The Ministry’s infirmary was probably tired of seeing him by now. He couldn’t even see straight, let alone stand. Maybe he could call a couple of eager Sisters to escort him there, and maybe get a passionate night out of it later. Yes, that sounded nice. He could use a distraction from the guilt he kept trying to shove down. He opened his eyes wearily from where he had fallen off the bed, and observed the most horrifying thing he’d ever seen in his life. Copia, inside of the plushie, was under his bed, brandishing a knife.

_“Don’t you forget about dying, Papa,”_ the plushie said, and the Third could have sworn it sounded like Copia’s voice coming from it. _“Don’t you forget about your friend death.”_

Terzo scrambled back, his head spinning from the fall and preventing him to escape. “But... but how?! No... no, per favore... no, no, I am sorry! P-Plushie... C-Copia! Wait! I am sorry!!” 

His scream rang out, loud and bloodcurdling, as the Cursed Potato took his revenge. 


End file.
